


Epilogue

by Zoya1416



Series: THE PATRICIAN'S BABY [12]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Childbirth, F/M, Grandparents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 08:41:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: A peek into Robbie's future, from the POV of Moist von Lipwig.





	

**Author's Note:**

> LittleMissM asked for a scene with Robbie and Lady Margolotta. This isn't exactly that.

Moist von Lipwig stared ominously at his employer. Vetinari had been nothing but helpful, arranging the best care possible, and assuring him repeatedly that every caution would be taken. It wasn't that he was ungrateful—you couldn't be ungrateful to the angel who'd only hanged you partway and given you gainful employment for twenty-five years. (No matter whether your work for him had been voluntary or seemed more like a continued probation.) Vetinari had given Moist a wonderful gift for his and Adora's wedding. It was what Leonard of Quirm would call a Do-Not-Remain-In-Custody-Of-The-Tanty card, stating that Moist would be given leave to quit his jobs and move to any other city on the Disc, if he so chose. But by the time of his wedding, he knew he couldn't leave Ankh-Morpork until Adora was done bossing everyone at the Grand Trunk, the Golem Trust, and the goblin resettlement offices.

No, this wasn't about his employer. It was about what his employer's son had done, about nine months ago. After a fabulous wedding _seven_ months ago—and Moist still hadn't forgiven Robbie for his slip-up, even though both Lacy and Adora had both given him death-glares when he mentioned it—Lacy von Lipwig-Dearheart Vetinari had finished increasing, and was on the point of decreasing. Almost exactly on the point of decreasing, if her screams of rage were any indicator. Robbie was inside her bedroom, in their fashionable house on Moon Pond Lane, where he was holding his wife's hand and dodging her crockery. 

The patrician's doctor son had taken no chances with the birthing and had brought in the best midwife he could find. Two doctors were on stand-by, just in case, although Nanny Ogg had glared at him and said if he didn't trust her she might as well have stayed in Lancre. But then Sammie Vimes, the one responsible for finding Nanny and persuading her to attend the birth far away from her mountains, had sidled up and put an arm around her. He whispered something in her ear which apparently charmed the old besom.

“How many bottles of cherry brandy did you say? And I'm not sure why you want to keep whiskey around for twenty years afore you drink it, but I'll try some. A dozen bottles will be fine. The Patrician can keep his balls where he wants to, though—just send a wagon up to Lancre with everything that will keep on ice. And I wants to see the best restaurants in Ankh-Morpork, but none of that fishy jam.”

“No caviar for Nanny Ogg, I'll make a note of it.”

Then she'd walked firmly into the birthing room, and Moist heard her say to the patrician's son, “if you keep your head, young man, you can stay here with her. Any acting up, and you're out.”

“Madam, I _am_ a doctor.”

“As I said. No fussing. And if you need to call in your two friends, make sure they're careful because they'll be stepping over my body.”

Moist hadn't even realized he'd squeezed his eyes closed until he smelled cigarette smoke and felt Spike's hand on his arm.

“Hi, love, sit down.” Adora pulled on his arm until he sank down on a bench. It was hideously uncomfortable, because it was Davenport's newest and most expensive style. He spared a moment to mentally salute the fashionable manufacturer who had been scamming the city's most wealthy families for the last ten years. He would have to talk with Lacy when she was recovered, though. Robbie was a man who wanted only the best for his wife and house, and who knew as much about furnishings as anyone else who worked on a mucky river all day. It might be that the furniture could speak for itself, though. When Adora was in this condition, she had gone through several up-scale furniture stores before she had a cart drag in something ghastly in pink.

“Rosie said it had been sat on in her parlor for twenty years so all the lumps were squashed out of it. My bum feels just fine here.”

Everything he could say would be wrong, so he didn't. Adora sat next to him and after finishing her cigarette put her hand on his arm. Touched by her display of affection, he folded his hand over hers and they waited silently.

%%%%%%%%%%%

An hour later he and Adora shared a small anteroom with Havelock and a sour-faced nursery attendant. After carefully assessing for the most dangerous grandparent, she placed the small blue bundle into Adora's hands.

“Here he is, ma'am. Dr. Vetinari and Mrs. von-Lipwig Deartheart-Vetinari are both resting well. They send word that they would be naming the child tomorrow.”

Vetinari pulled out a slim silver case and opened it. 

“Cigars may be more traditional offerings in this situation, but Lady Margolotta sent me her best cigarettes. The tobacco is grown in total darkness.”

Moist lit one for Adora, and held the holder to her mouth. She inhaled reverently.

“Gods, this is fantastic. Do you think she could send me a bale?”

He smiled. “I think she's already sent Robbie a bale. She was quite charmed by him when he visited Uberwald last year.”

Moist raised an eyebrow. “Why would a vampire need...”

“Oh, she doesn't need a doctor. He was merely—you could say—making amends for his previous visit there.”

His lips twitched in a suppressed paternal grin.

“We went there when he was five. He was quite excited to meet her bats. Her many bats. When we were...occupied, he slipped out of my room, woke them up, and chased them all over the castle. They were very—excitable.”

Trying not to register what he'd thought was his employer's slip of tongue, except that Vetinari didn't have slips of tongue, Moist brought up the image of an enraged vampire whose bats had gone batty. Bats probably did what other animals did best when they were startled and excited.

“Exactly how much guano did Robbie have to clean up, my lord?”

“I didn't stay to find out, but paid for half a dozen Igors to have the place cleared in an afternoon. The sofa cushions had to be replaced, but I think it was her library that annoyed her the most.”

At Moist's quirked eyebrow he continued. “She sent me a message later, during our Thud game, that she was glad to see him gone quickly because he'd started looking ...lunchable...to her.”

He shook his head. “I thought he'd been cleaned up, and that it was just the lingering smell, and then when we got home he presented Sammie with a handful of it for Sammie's poo collection. The Vimes's were amazed.”

“I'll bet they were. I spent a night in a cave once—” he didn't have to tell Vetinari that he'd been hiding from an angry posse—“and the odor was pervasive.”

Vetinari reached out to Adora and she gently shifted the baby to his arms. He cradled the child expertly.

Alright, Moist had to know.

“So what does a doctor do for a black-ribboner vampire?”

“Bring news from all over, for one thing. He collected the current affairs of every vampire he knew—Mister Chriek, Corporal Maladict, Constable Salacia, John Not-A-Vampire-At-All Smith, Dragon King of Arms, the Magpyres—even the vampires at the kosher butchers."

“Surely she could have gathered all this herself—don't vampires use magpies? I heard that at least the Magpyres did.”

“Yes, but he and Sammie between them came up with the kind of news that the magpies can't carry. The little things, really. The fight John Smith had with his wife when she threw out his collection of organs made from toothpicks, and his priceless vintage banana peels. The social activities of Mister Chriek and his special friend at the Glassmaker's Guild, the one who ground the black lenses which keep Otto from disintegrating nine times out of ten. Corporal Maladict's coffee crop failure—if she hadn't stockpiled enough from the previous three years, Sergeant Perks thinks she'd have ordered every bean we have in the city. A few of Constable Salacia's reports to the Low King."

Moist considered himself a huge connoisseur of Ankh-Morpork, and indeed, Disc gossip, yet he'd never heard of these.

“Gossip, you say? Intercepting spy messages? Any other 'gossip' of a more serious, political nature?”

Vetinari pursed his lips and looked up. “Mmm. Sammie had discovered some very recent news about Dragon King of Arms. After his purchase of new heraldic animals had gone astray for the seventh time, he started having the coats of arms painted from backdrops. The nobles found out. He really never did recover after the candle affair.”

When you kept poisoning yourself with those arsenic ones, you mean, and three people died, Moist thought.

“Yes, he was in the process of selling up and retiring. He wanted to move to a castle outside Uberwald, and he was not reformed. Margolotta was very pleased to learn about that before he settled in. Robbie gave her clear and very detailed records of all the, ah, gossip, and she forgave him. I haven't heard anything about the Dragon since. She invited Robbie to come back, but, do you know, I think he is going to be busy here in the city for a very long time.”

The baby stirred and stretched, starting to grumble a bit, and the nursery attendant reached for him. Moist intercepted her with a patented warm smile, and took the baby from Vetinari.

Vetinari gave him a smile, too. At this point he'd forgiven the tyrant for messing with his life, and he was now forgiving the tyrant's son. Robbie got on well with Adora after he'd learned how to treat the diseases goblins acquired in the city. He'd created better types of ceramic glue for golems after having to patch his Ankh workers too often. He was rich after all his deals with Harry King, he adored Lacy and gave her everything she wanted—even hideous but fashionable furniture—and now—Moist held his grandson against his chest, and was at peace.

“He's going to take after you,” said Adora, and when he blinked up at her she said, “He's already got your pencil.”

Moist looked down at the pencil from his waistcoat, now firmly held in the new baby's grasp. It was a baby reflex, that was all. Certainly. But his busy mind began working again, thinking how much fun he could have teaching the little mite to pickpocket. Robbie would be a first good victim. 

The birthing room door opened and Nanny Ogg stepped out.

She spoke to Adora. “They're both doing fine, and the missus has stopped pulling his hair out, so you and Mr. Lipwig can go in.” 

The father's father would have to wait, Moist thought in satisfaction, gently handing the baby back to Vetinari. He absently stroked the black cigarettes in his waistcoat, and marched in to see his daughter and her husband.


End file.
